But Lazlo didn’t jump on the stage. Didn’t throw a hatchet at me, either. He simply let me croon on for a while, with my trite fire/desire and love/above rhymes. Patiently, he stared with that icy, unsettling gaze as I sang something cringeworthy about how no one understands, I just want to feel his hands. When my masterpiece ended, everyone applauded except for him.
